


Toss For Me

by PunnyMcGee



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Haikyuu!! AU, I'll try to keep them linear though, M/M, Nekoma, Seijou, Sports Anime AU, The Voltron cast in the Haikyuu!! Universe, These are just blerbs of the au and not like a full fic, Volleyball, aoba johsai, haikyuu!! - Freeform, klance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-02
Updated: 2016-12-02
Packaged: 2018-09-01 22:08:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8640016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PunnyMcGee/pseuds/PunnyMcGee
Summary: Lance and Keith meet when their schools get together for a week-long training camp.





	

**Author's Note:**

> An AU idea I thought of with my friend, and we wrote a lot for it. Lance is part of Aoba Johsai and Keith is part of Nekoma. They're both first years here.

Keith is brimming with excitement as he stands with his team members, clad in their light blue team jersies hanging loosely over workout t-shirts, listening to his coach explain the rules and concept of what they'll be doing during the week-long training camp. The idea is easy enough to grasp; they'll face off the other four teams in single set matches, loser has to do penalty laps. There are teams from other districts, including the second-leading team from the Miyagi prefect, Aoba Johsai. It's the first time Aoba Johsai would be joining their training camp, putting their teams at an odd number, which always gave one team a small break instead of all the teams always being in a match. The coach is giving everyone a brief overview of the other teams and their strengths, and when he gets to Aoba Johsai, he nods in their direction for everyone to glance over.

"And they've got a new setter, that tall tan fellow. Number seven," the coach explains, and Keith turned so he could pick out the figure over his shoulder. He spotted a mop of brown hair cradling beautiful bronze skin. He's got a red practice jersey over a white work-out shirt, the number seven in a heavy black bold across his front. The shirt hangs loose over his thin frame, and makes the shorts barely covering his long thighs look even shorter. Keith swallows, turning back as the coach continued. "He's apparently very talented, and they'll be grooming him during this training period to replace their official setter next year. Don't underestimate him just because he's a skinny little first year." The whistle blows for the matches to begin and the coach clears his throat, "Now, our first match is against Fukurodani. Play smart and stay calm, keep the ball in play at all costs. Remember: the team that drops the ball loses."

"Yes sir!" The chant, heading over to the court they've been assigned, and Keith notices that Aoba Johsai is the first team sitting out. Probably because they're new, so they get to watch first. The Captain reaches his fist in, and the others do the same, with Keith exhaling a slow breath to steel his nerves and smooth out his concentration as the captain begins their pre-match chant.

The game was hard fought, but in the end they lose to Fukurodani by a fair few points. Keith pouted as the captain calls for a lap of diving receives, huffing sharply in irritation. He always hated losing, and he'd hardly gotten a spike in. He'd let more than his fair share of receives hit the floor, and some of the other team members were shooting him dirty looks, which he returned with vigor. But something was clawing at the back of his neck, trying to grab his attention, and he forcefully ignores it. At least, as much as he can until, after his third practice match, he catches the new Seijou setter they'd been warned about staring at him. It isn't a very hurtful look, or even gross or cocky; it's curious and scrunched, like he was trying to figure out something in his head.

Keith sends him a sharp glare that has the other reeling back in surprise, but he turns around with a click of his tongue before he can catch the confusion that twists into an annoyed backlash. He's too frustrated with himself and his team for only winning one out of their three games so far, and the fact he still can't make a proper receive half the time.

Their next game is with Aoba Johsai, and Keith wasn't surprised to see the new setter in the starting line-up. Keith blinked at him, and when the other looked over and caught his eye, he reached up and pulled down his lower lid, sticking his tongue out at Keith. The dark-haired boy reeled back, wrinkling his nose in distaste before sticking his tongue sharply back out at him. Then the whistle blew, and the game was on.

 

\--

 

Nearly three hours later, the cycle of practice matches was called to an end, and everyone was given leeway for free practice. Most of his team members paired off or slipped into groups with members from the other team, leaving Keith by himself. He may be a first year, but he was by no means close with his team or any of the other first years. He knew the only reason he was on the starting roster was because of how great a spiker and blocker he was. But his spiking skills were useless if their setter never sent the ball his way, always opting to send it to their ace or a middle blocker instead.

He huffed, grumbling to himself as he exited the main gym, making his way to the next building over where there was another free gym they were allowed to set up. No one was here yet, and he was both thankful and a little disappointed. _Whatever_ , he thought, _I can just practice spikes by myself, as usual._

Setting up the net by himself had taken a while, but he didn't mind. He could be as aggressive as he wanted with the equipment, since there was no one there to snap at him for it. He placed a row of water-bottles on the other side, placed in various places as targets. He tugged out the ball bin, dragging it just behind the starting line of the court and took a moment to breathe. He picked up a ball and held it in front of him, letting his forehead coming to rest on its surface as he exhaled slowly, clearing his mind. Here he was alone. He didn't have the sharp glares of his teammates or disapproving frown of his coach. He had full control of the ball, and all the privacy and room to work with it how he wanted.

Keith opened his eyes, lifted his head, and drew in another breath. He tossed the ball to the air, eyes locked onto it as he crouched and surged forward. The air whipped past his ears with the movement, muscles bunching in his legs like coils before he sprung into the air. His body folded back, spring-loaded, before whipping forward, his hand making contact with the ball in a sharp sound of skin on leather. The ball sailed over the net, hitting the water-bottle Keith had placed on the other side with pin-point accuracy and a heavy sound that echoed in the room. He was a good spiker, always having control of the ball for that brief moment of palm-contact, and that made him just as good a power server.

He grinned when he landed, already turning around to grab another ball before the one he'd just served had finished bounding along the floor. He served again, landing another exactly where he'd aimed. He could feel the shockwaves of the impact in his joints, putting fire in his bones as he finally got that satisfied feeling he'd been craving all day. He served another, and another, all hitting their targets and Keith felt himself grinning like a fool with each perfect serve. He hissed a 'yes!' between his teeth, cheeks glowing and sweat rebuilding on his brow. He had served half the balls in the bin, still floating down to the ground after sending another ball across the court, when he heard a drawn-out gasp from the door. It startled him, and Keith fussed up his landing a bit, stumbling before he turned to see the figure standing in the doorway. 

"That was so cool!" The other said excitedly, catching Keith even more off-guard. He could see the mop of brown hair and tan cheeks bunched up in heaps over a dazzling grin, and Keith found his own coloring a bit at the absolute awe glittering in his eyes. He had abandoned his factoried jersey, and exchanged his sweaty work-out shirt for a much more form-fitting t-shirt with a silly cartoon cat on it in blue. There was no sour look, and he did not stick out his tongue at Keith as he had during all of their matches together. Instead, he was looking at Keith as if he had just shown him the coolest thing in the universe instead of a basic jump serve. "Where did you learn to serve like that?"

It took a moment before the dark-haired boy realized the other actually expected an answer, and that the tan boy's tone was not one of sarcasm, as if he was being made fun of. He shrugged, reaching up to scratch idly at the back of his neck as his other hand rested on his hip. "I practice a lot, on my own. My brother taught me a lot too, when I was little, and we used to practice together a lot before he went to high-school." He looks at anywhere other than the other still standing in the doorway, but he can still feel his eyes on him, trying to draw him back.

"That's awesome!! My older brothers all did other sports." Keith can see in his peripherals the other jab a thumb to his chest and puff it up proudly, " _I'm_ the first to do volleyball, and I'm quite good, if I do say so myself!"

Keith snorts, but it's not condescending, for once. He'd seen the other during the practice matches, watched him effortlessly guide the ball to whoever needed it, picking and choosing where to send it where it would help their team best. He didn't need the other to boast that he was good, because he knew. So Keith dropped his other hand to his hip, and let his eyes be sucked back to the other's face, which was scrunched up a little humorously at him. He quirked a brow, "What?"

"Nothing," the other said, before nodding, as if coming to some silent conclusion. He smiled before continuing, "You just look better with a smile on your face. You were like, super grumpy before."

Keith blinks at the other curiously, "What are you talking about?"

The brunet gives him an unimpressed look before rolling his eyes and crossing his arms over his chest, "Um, hello? You shot me this nasty look before I'd even said two words to you!"

The ravenet feels color claw its way to the back of his neck, and he looks away a bit sheepishly, mouth pulling into a frown, "Oh, um, sorry about that. I was just.. having a bad day." He rolls his shoulders back, and suddenly finds the would grain in the gym flooring incredibly interesting, "I can get kinda mean when I'm frustrated."

The taller boy quirks a brow at him, Keith can see it in his peripherals, and there's a bit of a silence before the other speaks again, "Tell ya what..." Keith chances a look at him, face slowly coming around just enough to look at the other from the side of his eyes, and finds him grinning like a fool. "I saw you during your games. Your setter doesn't like to toss to you, so how about this?" He throws a hand to his hip and waves the other around animatedly, and Keith can't help but turn his face back to him fully as he watches with just a twist of amusement, "You teach me how to do that cool serve, and I'll toss to you. Deal?" He raises his eyebrows and gives Keith an expected look, meeting the dark-haired boy's furrowed brow and contemplating gaze.

"Alright," Keith says after a moment, crossing his arms over his chest with an inaudible sigh. "Deal. But-" He adds on the last part just as the other breaks into a huge grin, "I'm holding you to your promise. And no more making faces at me."

The brunet still seems to shimmer with excitement, trotting into the gym and across the floor in no time at all, sliding to a stop next to Keith, "Ohhhh my god, yes! I am  _so_ ready, dude!"

"My name isn't 'dude'," Keith says with a roll of his eyes.

"Well that's good," the taller boy laughs. "But maybe I should introduce myself." He smiles as he sticks out a tan hand, and Keith blinks down at the paler surface of the other's palm, "The name's Lance. Lance McClain. I'm a setter."

The dark-haired boy nods, grasping Lance's hand in his own firmly, but not tight. "Keith Kogane. Wing Spiker." He's surprised to find the other's touch cold, despite how they'd just been playing for the past four hours. But before the thought can make itself at home, the brunet pulls his hand back just as Keith does the same.

"Sick. Now let's get serving!"

"Gotta quaffle the balls first," Keith replies, nodding towards the ball bin. "I used most of them myself, and we should start with more anyways so we don't have to stop right when we get into it."

"Ugh, true," Lance groans, bending forward as he sighs. Then he gets a playful glint to his eye when he turns to smirk at Keith. "Bet I can pick up more balls than you."

The dark-haired boy quirks a thick brow, "Excuse me? What are you, five?" But Lance is already trotting forwards, ducking under the net and picking up a couple of stray balls that had rolled closer after Keith's brutal serves. 

"C'mon, Kogane! Unless you're already tired after only a few measly serves?"

Keith's shoulders pinch up defensively, and before he can stop himself, he's stomping over the court and dashing to pick up volleyballs scattered over the wood tiling. Lance laughs as Keith throws him a glare.

 

\--

 

Before long, they're panting next to the now overflowing ball bin.

"I... won..." Lance pants from where he sits on the floor, knees spread eagle before him as he leans back on his hands.

"Hell no... I totally... beat you..." Keith rasped out, bracing his hands on his knees as he catches his breath. He takes a long inhale and surges upwards, catching himself as he totters a bit to the left with the movement. He exhales slowly, and clears his throat, "Alright string-bean, let's start serving."

"String-bean?" Lance chirps in disbelief, giving him a wide look that's an amusing mix of disgust and surprise.

Keith sneers, but it's still playful, already rolling a ball into his hands, "Yep. Because that is literally what you are. All height and no muscle." He bounces the ball in his hand absently, the other coming to rest over his chin in thought, "I mean, I guess I could call you a telephone pole? Or a street sign."

Lance is still gaping at him, mouth opening and closing wordlessly, and if Keith is being honest, it's actually rather funny to see the other shocked into silence. In fact, he even lets out a couple laughs, and that has the brunet rolling onto his feet with a pout.

"You're so mean. Why are you like this?" Lance whines, throwing his hands to his hips and tapping one foot on the ground.

The pale-skinned boy shrugs, "Hey man, you don't have to stay. You can go practice amateur serves on your own."

"Um, my serves are anything but amateur, buddy," the other replies, throwing a hand to his chest, fingers splayed open. "I'm just as great a server as I am a setter, I just wanna learn how to do your cool serve, too!"

"Whatever Lance," Keith sighs with a roll of his eyes, before giving the other an unimpressed look. "If you stopped complaining for all of about two seconds, than  _maybe_ I could actually get enough of a word in to  _tell you_ how to do a jump serve."

"Alright, wise-guy, start talkin'!" Lance huffs out, nodding at the net, "Go on, go on!"

Keith just shakes his head and turns the ball over in his hands, giving it a quick spin before settling it between his fingers once more. He'd already done this once, done it over a dozen times barely ten minutes ago. But now that he had an audience, and  _knew_ he had one, could feel their presence at his back as he let a breath ghost over the ball, he was nervous. It was strange, how Lance's presence seemed different from the others, in both intensity and comfort. He was nervous because he was performing a demonstration, but for some reason, he thought it was okay, because it was Lance. He hummed with the feeling, and blinked as he tried to clear his mind.

"Hey, Konaynay, let's get this show on the road!" Lance calls, smirking from the sideline, where he's decided to observe. "You gettin' stage-fright or somethin'?" He laughs at the glare Keith shoots him, waving innocently before the other growls something under his breath and tosses the ball into the air.

He surges forward, eyes present on the ball at all times, trusting his body to move where it's supposed to. His feet stop before the end line and he twists his ankles just as he springs into the air. Back arched, spiking hand wound and ready, he whips forward, and loves the satisfying smack of the ball sloshing into his hand before careening over the net to the other side of the court. He lands gracefully, still partially crouched as he watches the ball bounce and totter to the left, and he hears a whistle echo from the sidelines. He turns to see Lance, grinning and giving him this look like he'd just seen a display from God. 

"Dang, dude, you really got some 'oomph' to that serve of yours!"

"Thanks," he replies casually, straightening up. "Now let's see you try to copy my serve."

Lance blinks, curious and surprised as he watches Keith pick another ball from the bin and pass it to him across the court, "Copy it?"

"Yeah, I want to see if you can do it through memory and then I can tell you what to fix that you're doing wrong."

"Oh," Lance says, and then he laughs. _God, he does that a lot_ , Keith thinks. "Aiight, if that's how we're doing this. Let me show you what I'm made of!"

**Author's Note:**

> I'm lazy, so this will be elaborated on later but this has been sitting in my drafts for far too long so here you go. A Klance Haikyuu!! crossover fic


End file.
